Post by Riko Michio on Dec 28, 2013 10:07:55 GMT -5
Shinigami
For the Record
Name: Riko Michio
Age: 230
Gender: Male
Loyalties: Riko is, generally speaking, loyal to both the Gotei as a whole and his 5th Division comrades. However, due, in part, to his lack of promotions and inability to fit in like everyone else, he secretly harbors deep suspicions and mistrust towards his fellow and superior officers, as he has seen much in his long, dull career.
Character Parameters
Height & Weight 5’8” (Approx. 173 Cm) || 158 Lbs (Approx. 72 Kgs)
Hair & Eye Colour Riko’s hair is a stark, jet black, and is relatively clean, though it stays an untameable mess due to his lack of desire to ever touch or see a comb and brush. Riko’s eyes are a dark, charcoal blue.
Noticeable Difference While of an average height, Rikoi is proportioned well for his size, with long thickly muscled limbs that carry a balance of athleticism, without crossing into the category of being “too muscley”. Riko is incredibly fit, as befits an officer of the Gotei, and carries himself with a sense of purpose wherever he goes. Though he was often teased for his gangly appearance as a youth, Riko eventually grew into his body, a fact that he knows well. A smile, or a blush, easily comes to him, often reaching up to his eyes and lighting up his features.
Riko’s hands, while not gnarled and twisted like some, are far from delicate, as anyone with a keen eye can notice the minute calluses that run across his palms and fingers, a result of years of swordsmanship, as well as a fair bit of violin playing. His facial features are similarly rugged, although, these can easily change thanks to his stubborn, petulant attitude, and surprisingly angular jaw.
Riko is never seen without his trademark sash, a well-weathered piece dyed cloth the color of his eyes, which can always be found tied around his waist. Somewhat surprisingly, despite his athletic tendencies, Riko prefers to wear an ordinary Shihakushō, with its white shitagi), black kosode and hakama, and white hikma-hiso, tabi and waraji. While Riko’s hair often smells of sweat and “elbow grease” due to his rigorous daily routine, he generally refrains from using any form of “scented” soap, as the smell tends to overwhelm his senses, both rela and imagined.
While in the real world, Riko uses a Gigai, generally dressing in a simple, button down suit and tie that hugs his large frame, though he will dress differently if the situation calls for it. Blue, black, white, and gray are his favorite colors when it comes to clothing, and whatever he wears will likely be drawn from these hues.
Positive Traits
- What would it take, for this to be quiet like the rain? ~ Observant and thoughtful, Riko has learned over time when to stand back and wait to act- if he acts at all. When he does, he prefers to be decisive, changing his mind only through well-reasoned arguments that are given to him after the fact.
- Everyone wins, and everyone loses. ~ Experience has taught Riko that even the most rigid of men can break given enough pressure, but those who change and adapt to their situation will always survive.
- I’m walking on sunshine, and singing in the rain... ~ Generally, Riko has a positive, upbeat attitude that permeates throughout everything he does, infecting every action with cheery, naive optimism (though, in the last thirty years or so, this has started to wane…).
- Wake up, and see the world burning. ~ While generally a very friendly man, Riko is capable of switching into “Battle-mode” at a moment’s notice, a trademark of members of the Fifth Division.
- I will become stronger... ~ Riko’s desire to overcome his own insufficiencies and become strong enough to protect those he cares about is powerful enough to rival that of even the strongest of Captains.
- Are you retarded, or am I just talking that fast? ~ Riko has very little patience when it comes to having to repeat himself, generally growing snappish and irritable whenever people don’t pay attention.
- This is what I did- Sorry if it isn’t good enough. ~ Highly self-critical, Riko is able to see and understand his own flaws quite easily, holding himself to a higher standard than nearly anyone else.
- The whole world is aflame; putting out a few fires won’t save it. ~ Underneath his cheery, optimistic outer layer lies a jaded, almost cynical persona that comes from years of watching the corruption and despicable behavior of the Gotei.
- Don’t break- I’ll need you later. ~ Having been born and raised within the confines of the Lower Rukon districts, Riko has very little emotional support, which can make him quite volatile and difficult to approach.
- This is just the calm before the Storm... ~ While generally capable of controlling his deeper emotions, when they bubble up to the surface, they tend to be as overwhelming and unstable as a raging tornado.
Bond Undeniable
Zanpakuto Spirit: In sharp contrast, perhaps, to the Zanpakuto of many other Shinigami, Fusenken is a not figure of the natural world, but rather a literal, physical person, which, while not particularly rife with symbolism and meaning, is still quite useful when communication is required. Of course, Fusenken hardly cares what everyone else assumes she should look like, which both coincides with the traditional imagery of death and despair, and disagrees elsewhere of good luck, prosperity, peace, calm, gentleness, and, of all things, Happiness. As Fusenken’s idea of joy is cutting through the flesh of every living thing in existence, perhaps some of this imagery is bit misplaced.
Only slightly (relatively speaking) oversized for a woman, Fusenken is perhaps six and a half feet in high but is strikingly real in terms of her appearance and presence, with vibrantly hued strips of cloth that contain bold patterns of such crispness that any comparable piece made by man would seem simply plain. That her personality is equally jarring can go without saying, though there are elements of it where Fusenken occasionally demonstrates parts of herself she does not possess, or, at least, chooses not to show others.
Calm, patient, and surprisingly decisive, the red-and-orange haired woman knows exactly what she wants, and is willing to wait an eternity to act on it, content with the knowledge that, eventually, she will achieve the “best” result in the end. Independent to the point of being anti-social, she hates the idea of subservience, and has great difficulty in working together with others in situations where a partnership is needed. However, a faint, somber air surrounds her, but the taint of smugness and overall sarcasm make it rather difficult to feel sorry for her.
Inner World: Fusenken’s, or perhaps Riko’s, Inner World is a place of utter emptiness, where the isolation has gone beyond being unoccupied and shifted into a melancholic atmosphere, where the absence of anything “alive” is both jarring and strangely peaceful. The air is always moving, changing from a thin, almost non-existent atmosphere with powerful, gale force winds, to one of such crushing thickness that even the slightest of breeze feels like an avalanche is being hurled upon you, and everything in between. This effect can be both gradual and startling at times, making it difficult to tell the origin of the shifting weather.
Otherwise, Fusenken’s hideaway is located at the base of a mountain, tucked away in a grassy clearing that sits between two rocky peaks, and is occasionally flooded with humidity and snow, only to become as crisp and clean as a new spring’s crop for no reason at all. Everything is washed over in vibrant, watercolor like shades, making it seem more like some artists work than an actual world, but every sense other than sight; smell, touch, taste, and sound, feel so real and clear as to be almost unnatural.
Sealed Zanpakuto: Measuring thirty-nine inches overall, Riko’s Zanpakuto, Fusenken, features a twenty-eight inch steel blade, hardened along the cutting edge from the extra use the blade receives thanks to his duties. The handle is made from hardwood, and is covered with stingray skin and heavy blue cord wrap, and is accented with a bronze guard and pommel. It’s saya is appropriately colored (black), and sits on his right side.
Shikai Appearance : Fusenken is released with the phrase “Compress into Nothing” or “Compress” for short. Its general appearance remains largely similar to its sealed state, however, blood red patterned markings etch themselves along the swords length, and a thin, almost unnoticeable hole forms through the center of the blade and along most of its length, just large enough to fit another, similar blade through it. Additionally, two bells, one red, one blue, appear on the end of the blade, although they make no discernible sound when rung.
Shikai Abilities: Fusenken’s abilities revolve around the compression and decompression of Riko’s Spirit Energy via its naturally low resistance level and honed through the application of his swordsmanship. By rapidly compressing Riko’s Spirit Energy at the tip of its released form at the precise moment he attacks, Fusenken is able to unleash a powerful “wave” of Spirit Energy, which takes the form of Riko’s previous attack (hence Fusenken’s name, which takes after the legendary technique supposedly created by a powerful samurai of old…).
FLASHBACK
Unlike many of the souls that enter the Soul Society, Riko did not arrive through death in the mortal realm. Rather, he was born directly into the Soul Society, something that many would consider fortunate, in its own way. No memories of a past life (or lack of memories) to weigh his down, or any past actions coming back to haunt his. Of course, it wasn't an entirely fortunate fate, either. Born in the 76th southern district of Rukongai, Riko learned that survival was his own problem at a very young age, and took to it with much enthusiasm, despite being small and, at the time, quite frail. Riko learned to watch in silence, both for his own safety, as well as those around him, as coming into conflict with someone stronger than him would be truly hazardous both his health and to his opportunities. Like any survivor in harsh conditions, he learned when to notice weakness in others as he did in himself and use it as a tool towards his continued existence.
Penniless and without family, at least as far as he was aware of, getting by usually meant scavenging through garbage cans and occasionally stealing from those who were too stupid to keep a tight hold on their own supplies. Having only to worry about water was, for the most part, a blessing, as it rarely ever went bad if you took care of it, but with the constant threat of bullies, thugs, and angry shopkeepers stealing his stuff, and on many occasions, stealing it back, Riko was usually left with nothing more than the clothes on his back, and, if he were especially lucky, a single day's worth of water. However, eventually Riko managed to entrench himself within the district, gathering a small group of friends and acquaintances that helped his survive just as much as he helped them. Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever, and, while there was strength in numbers, only those who were truly strong could survive in the lower Rukon, a fact Riko and his companions learned the hard way.
How, might you ask? Well, the short is this- one day, a group of gangsters, part of the newly formed Lower Rukon Triads, found where Riko and his friends had been staying, and, after seeing that a bunch of kids had somehow managed to gather up more food and water than their entire gang combined, they decided to what any gangster would have done in that situation; take it. The children fought back, but were unable to stop the much larger, much stronger Triads from taking what they wanted. Beaten nearly to death, Riko was only saved by the good will of a passing Shinigami, who took it upon himself to heal the poor boy's wounds. However, by the time Riko had recovered, the Shinigami had left, and the triads had made off with all of his hard earned water, leaving his friends dead bodies in their wake. Devastated by the loss of both his provisions and his friends and uncertain how to survive in these tougher than normal times, Riko knew he had to make a decision.
Seeing little to no choice in the matter, Riko set off to find his rescuer, although, in truth, he couldn’t tell you exactly why. The mess of emotions and thoughts that ran through his head at the time made any decision difficult and confusing. Why was he going to this man? To ask for his help once again? To thank him? To become strong, like him, so this could never happen to his again? Some strange amalgamation of all of those reasons? In any case, it was a difficult search, and by the time he had managed to find him again, he was once more standing at deaths door. Going a few weeks without water or food would do that to someone, after all.
After nearly collapsing right on top of the man, Riko discovered, to his amazement, that he was willing to help him. For whatever reason, this man was willing to share what little provisions he had with him, and, even more astonishingly, he was even willing to teach him how to become stronger. The bread and water he had given his that night had been old, stale, and more than a little burnt, but it had tasted better than anything he’d ever had before, or would ever have again.
For the next three years, Riko learned the basics of defending himself, the man coming by on his weekly patrols to check on his progress. He grew stronger, taller, and more handsome, despite his disheveled appearance. It was around this time that Riko became interested in becoming a Shinigami, largely due the fact that, according to his mentor, the Academy was a place where you were safe, never having to worry about someone trying to steal your food, or burn your shack down for the few bits of metal you had on the roof. Knowing he would not be able to dissuade the young boy from his decision, Riko’s mentor took it upon himself to prepare him to enter the Academy. He was by no means an excellent teacher; his specialties’ lay in the arts of healing Kido, or Kaido, of which Riko had no skill in, and although he was at least several steps above Riko when it came to the art of Zanjutsu, he was by no means a master of the art, having rarely ever dawn his blade in a real fight, let alone in a sparring session.
And so, after three years of training, Riko, who had slowly but surely blossomed into a young, handsome lad, travelled with his mentor to the Spiritual Arts Academy, where all Shinigami recruits were trained to enter into the Gotei. Riko was given a choice as to how he wished to enter the Academy; he could either take the entrance exam, hope he passed, and begin classes the next semester; or, he could enlist in the newly instituted “Mentor” program, where young Shinigami hopefuls were given a crash course on the life of a Shinigami and their duties. His mentor, wary of the thought of the young, impressionable boy being thrust into dangerous situations without anyone there on his side, advised him to take the test. Riko agreed, reluctantly, and took the test, barely managing to pass enough sections to get into the Academy’s lowest level class. But he had done it. Riko knew that he had come from the depths of brutality and violence, a place where it was difficult to simply survive, to a place he could truly become strong. A place where he could learn, and eventually become one of the powerful Shinigami of the Gotei.
With naive enthusiasm, Riko threw himself at his classes, soaking up any and all information he was given, learning not only of the four founding skills of a Shinigami (Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hoho, and Kido), but also of more academic things, such as math, literacy, and the ability to write comprehensible sentences, as well as a myriad of social skills. In fact, by the time Riko had entered his sixth year at the Academy, he confidently say that he had raised his skills in almost all of the arts (particularly Zanjutsu) to the level of competency required to graduate. All, of course, but one; the demon arts of Kido. Lacking the Spiritual prowess to perform these arts, as well as the concentration required to keep them from blowing up in his face, Riko none the less managed to squeeze out of himself enough talent with it that he could be bumped up from the “Utter Failure” category to the “Barely passable” one.
Eventually, Riko graduated from the Academy in the middle of his class, armed with what he thought were the skills he would need to join the Fifth Division, the place where he thought his aptitudes would be best suited. Of course, like all things in life, nothing is what it seems, and although the Fifth Division as an entity had accepted him into itself, the members of it had not. He was the new guy; a young, handsome looking thing who had yet to grow into himself, let alone someone who could eb considered a “man”. They teased him about his stature, and mocked his swordsmanship, calling him “weak” and “uncoordinated” during their spars. Riko took it all, his self-esteem plummeting, even as he used such insults to push himself even harder. One day, he would become strong, like them, and he would be different. He wouldn’t use his strength to hurt, as so many others had done to him. No, he would be like his mentor. He would use his strength to protect, to nurture, like had been to him. And until then... He would weather the storm.
The first day his Zanpakuto spoke to him, Riko was in shock. Oh, he had heard of things like this happening, but he had never truly believed that he himself was powerful enough to have a Zanpakuto Spirit, let alone draw its attention enough to speak to him. Doing his best to strike a friendly, or at least friendly to him, conversation, Riko came away from his first encounter with his sword confused, and more than a little angry. Deciding that, for now, it was best to take things slowly, the two of them, Fusenken and Riko, eventually reached something of an understand between them, growing to a level where they could tolerate each other, for a little while at least.
From that time on, Fusenken became Riko’s full-time drill instructor. While the sword, or rather, the woman, could come to terms with the idea of patience and waiting to see it’s goals achieved, it was by no means going to allow Riko to sit on his ass and do nothing. This sat just fine with the young Shinigami, who knew he had to start working harder anyway, and had never been quite sure where to go with his skills, other than randomly flailing away at the practiced sword forms. With his Zanpakuto’s uncanny combination of patience, abrasiveness, and decisiveness, Riko rose to a level of swordsmanship he had not even believed was possible for him, learning things about how a blade could move that he had never even considered before.
Though hardly a powerhouse in terms of natural skill and ability, Riko found that his skills, which had begun to plateau, began to grow again, and, to his great surprise, the members of his Division grudgingly grew to respect him. Slowly but surely, Riko began to draw himself out of his hell, reaching out to the presence of others and increasing his social horizons. He knew that strength could come from doing things yourself, but he remembered, quite vividly, that it didn’t mean you had to go it alone. His figure, a source of great discomfort for Riko for many years, changed as decades went by, his body growing along with his power as he slowly but surely came into the handsome, charming man he was born to be. What lay ahead of him in the future was unknown, but it didn't really matter in the end. He would carve out his own path, and be better for it.
Many years passed uneventfully for the young Shinigami, who quickly grew older and older as he was passed up for promotion after promotion, the corruption and greed prevalent throughout the entire Gotei Six slowly but surely grinding down Riko’s inner optimism into nothing more than a jaded, cynical idealism that he barely even believed in anymore. He was two-hundred and thirty years old, and no matter how hard he worked, no matter how hard he tried, everyone but him was promoted to a higher seat. Eventually, with the arrival of one Kenshou Ine as the newest (sort of) in a long line of Captains, he was given a chance at a better position, but would this new Captain be just like the others, corrupt and power hungry? Or would he be different? Only time would tell, he supposed...
Roleplaying Sample: Riko looked down at the small, battered hunk of wood before him and scowled. He had been hacking away at the practice stand all day, and though he had scored into the hardened wood and iron surface of the dummy half a thousand times already, he had made no measurable progress in increasing either his physical power or martial skill with his weapon. It was not, he knew, supposed to easy to gain strength or skill; it required long hours of sweat and torturous, sometimes dangerous training methods. But he knew that he should have at least had some indication that his work was not going to waste, that all the hours he had spent training and practicing and sparring had not all been for naught. He should have been able to see progress by now. But he hadn’t. And it was beginning to grate on him.
Why? Why can’t I improve? What is it that they have that I lack? How could he ever hope to protect the people he cared about if he never became strong? How could he ever hope to defend himself in this era of monsters and demons, where your very life could be taken from you in the blink of an eye? If he was too weak to fight for what he believed in, then what was the point in even becoming a Shinigami? What had been the point in all of his hardships, all of his struggles, if, in the end, it all amounted to nothing?
”Why can’t I be stronger… Why?” his voice was soft and quakey, both from the strain of his routine and the sudden, overflowing surge of sadness and despair that had welled up from within him. Leaning forwards, Riko lowered his blade, placing his right hand on the surface of the practice dummy before him, even as he kept his weapon in a vice grip in his left hand. He could feel it coming; his body was shaking. he knew he would not be able to hold back the tears for very long. He knew he should not act like this; it was not becoming of a member of the Fifth Division, not becoming of a member of the Gotei Six. But he could not help himself. Not anymore. It had been so long since he’d had anyone even resembling a friend speak to him, been so long since he had heard anything other than criticisms from his fellow Shinigami… He could not take it anymore.
Had there been others around him, Riko might have managed to shame himself out of his miserly state, but, seeing as he was the only one who had chosen to stay at the practice yards for more than the required time (again), he was completely and utterly alone. And as such, the tears, hated and shameful though they were, began to flow. It was a soft flow, barely even a trickle, but each drop that fell from his eyes only served to make him hate his weakness that much more. If only he could be stronger, if only he could be faster, if only… If only I could be like you were, Fujigaki. You were always so strong, so fast, so… so ready to handle the world.
Letting the tears flow out of him unbidden, Riko stood, leaning against his practice dummy for what felt like hours, waiting until he had squeezed every last drop of salty water from his eyes. It was time to pack it in for the day, he knew. It was always time to return to the barracks when he got like this. It was a sign, a sign from his body that he was pushing himself too hard, doing too much. But still he kept pushing. it was the only way he knew, really. To push forwards, against all the odds, against all the signs and realities before him, hoping that, somehow, he’d make it through unscathed, or at least alive. And he always had. But now… Now was different. No amount of practice, no amount of aimless training, no amount of self-loathing and anger driven action could change the fact that he had plateaued. He had hit his peak, as both a Shinigami and a man, and there was nothing that could make him climb higher. Nothing at all. Closing his eyes as he leaned back off of the practice stand, Riko loosened his grip his sword, taking in a deep, calming breath as he did so. It’s alright. Just breathe. Just breathe and-
”That’s not how you’re supposed to hold me, dumbass.”
The voice came from nowhere. At once, Riko opened his eyes, expecting to find one of the many female members of his Division standing nearby, looking at him with barely concealed contempt, and perhaps a bit of that strange, impossible to place emotion that he sometimes saw in their pretty, reflective eyes. Instead, what he saw took his breath away. No longer was he simply standing before the rugged, worn pit that the Fifth Division used as a training ground; rather, he stood at the foot what appeared to be two massive, snow capped mountains, whose sheer size and depth brought both a sense of heavy unease and child-like wonder to his mind. The space before him, though covered with grass and trees, seemed more empty than alive to his senses, as if the very air itself sucked away anything that could be called “life” from whatever it touched, transforming what should have been a beautiful serene clearing into a dead, empty realm of forgotten hopes and dreams.
The sensation of seeing these things was at once jarring and, strangely enough, peaceful, as if the very world around him was both striving towards his end and conspiring towards his uplifting. The fact that every color, every image, every sight that he took in looked more at home inside of a painting than the real world helped bolster this feeling immensely and, had he had the time, Riko might have explored the world further. But he didn’t. Because despite the fact that he was now in a strange, watercolor world, there was a more pressing matter that required his attention.
”Hey, you. Yes, you, the idiot holding my hilt. Are you deaf or just stupid? I told you, that is not the way you're supposed to hold me. Again, surprise jolted through Riko as he turned to face the woman who had spoken to him, both at the sudden closeness of her voice and the sheer, Amazonian size of her. Though he was not, by any means, a small man, the woman before him, dressed in a set of vibrant clothes colored and patterned in such stunning ways that anything else would have simply been childish and plain in comparison, was, at the least, a head and a half above him (and probably taller), and just as wide (though whether or not this was because of her clothing, or just her prodigious size, he could not tell).
”My word you're… tall.” The words came out of his mouth without thought, and, almost immediately, he regretted saying them. Though he could not quite make out the face of the woman before him, the wind, which had earlier been as light as could be, had suddenly picked up a considerable amount, to the point that it was now kicking up bits of dead leaves and twigs, creating a kind of vortex that surrounded the woman before him, obscuring her features and, generally speaking, creating a massive and awful mess.
”Yes. I am tall. I’m also very cross with you right now, so watch what you say. Because I can kick you out of here as easily you could swat a fly… although, considering how poor you are at using me, that might not be a good example.” It took him a moment to realize what the woman had actually said, but, when his mind finally made the connection, it snapped him out of his revelry and focused his mind on the moment. Did she… She did. She said “hold me”. She said me. Which means-
”Which means you need to stop daydreaming and pay attention. I won’t have an incompetent, lazy, child wielding me.” The slap came fast, without warning or cause (or, so it seemed to him). Though the blow stung, and would likely leave his cheek red for a few hours, it was the words that accompanied it that wounded him. Incompetent? Lazy? Childish? Who does this woman think she-
Again, his train of thought was interrupted a slap, this time having enough strength and speed to make his eyes water. In his mouth, the distinct tang of copper touched his tongue, and an acrid, sharp pain spread from the right side of his inner mouth, where his teeth had managed to break the skin. Such was the force behind his Zanpakuto Spirit’s slap, and such was the force he brought to bear up towards her, his sword screaming up through her mid-section, cutting into her body as if it were made of paper.
Only, she wasn’t there. In a single moment, she had vanished into the mind, only to reappear next to him, arms raised, ready to unleash yet another slap. ”I told you already you idiot, that is not how you are supposed to hold me. How do you expect to hit anyone with that deathgrip, huh? You have to hold me right. How can you not see that?” He’d had enough of this. How could this woman speak as if she knew what t meant to hold a sword? She carried no weapon, wielded no blade, fought with nothing more than her bare hands! And yet, she has hit you twice, while you have yet to even see her move. Think dammit! Don’t let her get into your head.
”You just don’t get it, do you?” The woman's voice was like ice, and, for a moment, he felt as if the very air around him had thickened into a fine, heavy soup. It hurt to breath, it hurt to think, it even hurt to move. But then, as quickly as it had come, the sensation was gone, replaced now by a soft, pleasant breeze and a irritating, sporadic bout of rain. ”I see now I wont be able to teach with just words. I’ll have to show you how it’s done.” The woman moved in a blur of speed; before he could even react, she closed the few feet between the two of them, her long, powerful arms moving in towards his chest, as if she were able to bludgeon his insides to death.
Only, that wasn’t what happened. Instead of being pounded into nothing, as he had thought was going to happen, Riko instead felt the soft, gentle touch of the womans fingers against his own, pushing the back and forwards, loosening his grip on the corded hilt in places while teightening it in others. ”You are supposed to hold me like this, see? You keep a firm grip, but you don’t try and choke me to death with your hands. And loosen up your arms; your stance is too rigid, which is only going to make things harder on you in the long run. You have to flow with the blade, not just hack away at everything like a mad man. Got it?
Too stunned to speak (and still rather angry at being slapped for seemingly no reason), Riko simply nodded, allowing the woman before him, who he supposed really was his Zanpakuto Spirit and not just some fever dream conjured up by his exhaustion and despair, to do as she pleased. And she did, flitting about him like a hummingbird, correcting his posture, stance, style, footing, and a thousand other things in that same, sarcastic tone that, somehow managed to reach directly into his heart and bring out all the negative, unhealthy emotions he had worked so hard to stuff down inside. ”...Alright, I guess your stance is at least good enough to where I wont be too ashamed to have you wield me.”
He was about to speak, about to say something in response to his Zanpakuto’s remarks, about to bring himself back out of the hole of snark and sarcasm he been cast into, when the woman beat him too it, once again keeping him from getting any kind of word in edgewise, or even opening his mouth to utter a single syllable, for that matter. ”Now get the fuck out already. I can’t look at you and your stupid face anymore. Go on. Go!” And, just as quickly as it had appeared, the strange, water color world and his tall, confusing Zanpakuto Spirit disappeared, replaced once more the world he had learned to call home.
Only, things were not the same. Things could not be the same. Not after that. Not after he had met his Zanpakuto. I have a Zanpakuto. I actually… I actually have a real Zanpakuto. That had to mean something. It had to. But what? His Zanpakuto had been petulant, aggravating, sarcastic, and, above all, abusive… But she had also shown him a way to hold his blade that he had never known before, and would never have known if she hadn’t appeared. What else did she know? What else could he learn from her? Clsoing his eyes again, Riko focused his mind, attempting to find the connection that had, however briefly, brought him into that strange and mysterious world.
He didn’t find it, but, at the height of his focus, he thought, for a moment, that he heard something, a voice, quiet as a whisper, carrying in the wind… You’ve got a good deal to learn, if you ever decide to listen.
OOC
Player Alias: Richard/RickDesired starting GP?: 1500, though I will take what I get.
How long have you been roleplaying?: About 4 years, though it has been awhile for me.
How did you find out about us?: Google, the god of the Internet.
Were you referred here by anyone? If so, by whom?: N/a.
Please tell us any other approved characters you have on BG: 0
